Visible
by littlechivalry
Summary: The world isn't just about what you see, but how you perceive it. HPDM, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of the Potter-verse.

**Author's Note:** This is something in the way of an experiment. The idea jumped on me at work and I wrote most of it long-hand on my lunch break.

**VISIBLE**

I'm ugly. I know it, always have. Everyone would know it if they looked hard enough. But they won't. They're scared.

I act ugly on purpose, to keep them away and it works. The ogre in the fairy tale isn't nice, or kind, or human, and neither am I. It keeps people at arms length, not close enough to see.

My lovers don't see him. I come to them in the dark and kiss, and suck, and fuck, but they never touch me. I tie their hands together, or to the bed posts, and they beg to caress my skin. Sometimes they cry. They call me amazing, beautiful.

When it's over and I'm alone, sometimes I cry too.

He sees me, how ugly I am. Or, at least, I think he does. During dinner in the Great Hall his glare pins me to the table like a butterfly and my world turns emerald green. I am examined, measured. He knows I'm ugly. Someday he'll tell everyone.

(_scenebreak, shift from first person perspective to second_.)

Playing Quidditch again, Slytherin versus Griffindor again, and it seems like they play the same game a hundred times over. It never changes. Chasers and Beaters swarm from goal to goal like bees, Keepers swinging madly to block the target, and somewhere in the chaos and the mess is a little golden ball. Eventually the grass beneath the players will be littered with blood and boom straw, and maybe more. Maybe one of these children will fall out of the sky, like an angel, like a rag doll.

Quidditch is ugly. Maybe that's why he likes it so much.

There it is! A flash of light against the grass. Potter hasn't seen it, dodging the Bludger, he faces the wrong way, so Draco takes off. He can't hear the crowd, or the other players. He doesn't feel Potter getting closer. Straining just out of his reach, he'll never stretch that far,the Snitchknows how ugly he is and won't let him catch it. But he will. Almost.

And he doesn't feel Potter get closer, and he doesn't hear the fabric tear as he's jerked off his broom by the hem of his cloak.

And he doesn't feel the ground when he falls, or see the professors and the students gather around him, stare at him.

And he doesn't hear the whispers, or soft weeping.

He doesn't feel Severus pull a cloak over him, lift him, carry him to the infirmary.

They know now. Potter made sure. Now everyone can see how ugly he is.

(TBC)

**Note**: Well, that's the first chapter. I have two more written, and waiting to be posted. Just tell me what you think.

Only the first taste's free.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

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**VISIBLE**

**CH. 2**

He is blind. His glasses are on the table, or under the bed, broken or smudged and he can't see. Without them the world is only a blur, with them it isn't much better.

He's learned his way around by color and vague shapes. Every hall in Hogwarts is grey stone and dimly lit, but that makes it easier. There are no distractions from the _left at the blue_ _thing, two flights up from the big red thing_.

Ron is a tall orange blur with white in the middle, Hermione is a bushy brown halo, but he would never tell her that. He's not suicidal.

It's not so bad when things are quiet and not many people are around, but when rooms are crowded the shapes melt together, brown dizzily bleeding into blond, he has to find a focus.

At dinner, he stares at Malfoy. Or at least, he thinks it's Malfoy. No one else has hair that white, except for Dumbledore, and his doesn't shine in the candles.

So, he watches for Draco, in the halls when the grey stone fuzzes and he forgets to count paintings; in Potions, when he can't quite distinguish one ingredient from the next, as if it mattered because he can't read the board; to dinner, where the Great hall is a blur of browns, sounds melt together in a cacophony, and the smell of so much delicious food makes him sick.

Quidditch is the same. Colorful shapes dash over, under, and around him. If it weren't for the shout, "Harry, Bludger," he'd be dead six times over.

So, he watches for Malfoy, and for the Snitch. Two golden flashes in the sunlight. Two things a blind man can see.

Warned, he dodges a Bludger, behind him the crowd screams, "Snitch!" Draco has spotted it, flying after. Two stars streaking across the pitch.

Harry chases, gets closer. The Snitch is out of reach, but Malfoy's woolen cloak is dancing against the tips of his fingers.

And he doesn't mean to cheat, and he doesn't know what he's doing as he clenches his hand in the soft material and yanks back hard. His fingers close on the Snitch as cloth tears. The game is Griffindors as a body slips to the ground.

The golden Snitch is smothered in his shadow, Draco's hair flickers, skin catching the light as he falls softly, gently, and unstoppably. The drop ripples the grass.

Harry chases, Seeks, but is too slow. Landing outside the gathering crowd he puts his glasses on.

Passing Ron, his crooked smile, "Good job, Harry," Hermione's damp voice, "I know it's _Malfoy_, Harry, but--."

Dusty breeze whipping black robes and Professor Snape doesn't even spare Potter an obsidian stabbing glare.

Harry gets closer to the body. Pearly skin, white and pink, shines in the sun. Flesh rippled and scarred, a half-melted blush candle.

Snape douses the boy in his cloak, gathering him up in strong arms, he cradles him to the infirmary.

The crowd disperses slowly. Hufflepuffs weeping, comforting one another in chubby, dimpled arms. Ravenclaws look concerned, curious, a hungry expression.

Some of the Griffindor's were celebrating. No fan of Malfoy's, they lowered their heads in sympathy and smiled behind their hair.

Harry turned to the Slytherins. Masks firmly in place, not Death Eater masks, the mask of people who learned a secret they always knew. The last to leave, they walked away in silence, hands joined in a chain, so none would be lost. And Harry was alone.

The grass was warm. The sun, the body, and the memory of fire.

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**Author's Note**: I'll update as often as I can, but I got tagged again for going online at work, so I'm limited to what I can do at home, and our computer has been acting up, So if you don't hear from me soon, I'm sorry.

Please review, it's not like it's hard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry it took so long to get this out, but as previously stated, my online time has been severely curtailed.

(_12345_)

**Chapter 3**

He wakes up in the infirmary and it's not the first time. It's not the second or third or the ninth and for a moment, he's at peace. He disappears in infirmaries. Pale hair and eyes fade into white sheets, white walls. He's not ugly to medi-wizards, they've seen worse. He's not even human to them, just a problem, a collection of symptoms, of scars.

It's calmer that way. He knows they're not looking at him. Face down in a cool pillow he can pretend he doesn't exist.

Madame Pomphrey gives him the usual menu of bone-menders and pain-killers. Reaching to brush the hair out of his face, she stops, hand outstretched. He doesn't like to be touched. She leaves without a word.

A warm voice rolls through the room. "Mister Malfoy, are you well?"

He doesn't answer because he doesn't need to. He is healthy, but he is not well.

"This time Potter will be punished. Even Dumbledore saw his Golden Boy drag you off your broom."

He didn't respond to this either.

"He tried to see you, but we kept him out."

Shifting slightly to breathe, Draco said, "It's not really his fault. They would have seen eventually. Now everyone knows. Maybe they'll leave me alone."

Incense scent comes closer, warm and familiar, Snape settles on the bed, softly, but solidly there.

"Do you want to be left alone, Draco?"

"I am alone, Godfather."

Snape would pause in the act of touching Draco, giving comfort, if he'd even tried in the first place. He rests a hand on the mattress by the boy's shoulder, where he can be seen.

Draco doesn't like other people's hands, doesn't trust them. But he won't watch Snape the way he watches strangers. If Snape attacked him, it would be from the front, no surprises. Draco trusts the man that far.

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**Note**: Um, and that's it. Please, let me know what you think. This is, as I said in the first chapter, an experiment, and I'd like to know how all of you are responding to it. Love it or hate it, please review.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own a damn thing.

(_12345_)

**CH 4**

Harry trusts the invisivility cloak. Some nights, he wraps up in it in bed. He's not scared of Ron, or Dean, and it won't keep Voldemort out, but he's still safe. No one knows he's there. So, for those hours, he's not there at all. For a few hours, Harry Potter doesn't exist.

Tonight, cloak wrapped tight around him, he's a ghost, wandering the halls. One of the nameless spirits of students, too sad to stay, too frightened to leave.

Eyes closed, he makes his way to the infirmary. He's been here so many times; he can count the steps, follow the scent of healing potions and clean linens.

Nearing the door he hears footsteps, and Snape sweeps by, muttering to himself. Something about napalm.

Inside, the room is white. Even invisible, Harry feels conspicuous. Somehow his silhouette of pain and fear must stand out from the pristine background, but it doesn't. He walks from bed to bed, most of them empty. Finding one set by the window, he clambers up. The cloak is awkward, his hands flash free for a moment, but then he settles in. He can sleep in the infirmary, does sleep there. Medi-witches and patients are used to the silent weeping, stifled cries of pain. They don't notice him, or pretend not to.

"I can hear you."

Harry sits up. Moonlight streaming through the window and he can't see anything. Fuzzy grey shadows shift as the wind blows the curtains.

"I can hear you."

"Who is it? Who's here?"

"Well, I'm hurt. I'm really hurt. You nearly kill me and don't have the decency to recognize my face?"

The voice is familiar, but pitched low and quiet in the still of the infirmary, Harry can't quite place it. A white shape moves towards him. _Cedric?_ Closer still, and the hair is too long, the form too slender, graceful.

"Malfoy?"

"Who else, Potter? Why can't I see you? Don't tell me one of my father's wishes came true and you're dead. No, that can't be it. I'm still alive."

Harry pulls off the cloak, frozen at the sight of the boy in front of him, closer than he's ever been, close enough to see. Shirtless, the shadows dance over skin rumpled and coiled, Harry tries to name the shapes he sees, like the shapes of clouds against the sun.

Seeing the hungry look in the boy's eye, Draco steps back.

"See anything you like, Potter? Aren't I beautiful?"

Harry has heard scorn from this voice for years, but never so rough, never so real. Anger and disgust, and Harry quails.

And he cannot stop himself.

"What happened, Malfoy?"

The silence stretches out, cold and tight. Harry aches for the cloak, wanting its warmth more than anything in his life. More now than Sirius, more now than his dead parents. More now than the death of Voldemort himself.

"I burned, Potter. I burned."

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**Note:**

1. I wasn't sure of the time frame, but since Sirius is dead, it must be post Order. Any details other than that; well, just consider them AU, because I'm afraid I don't have the time to look them up.

2. As a member of a large family, my parents worried that we would get jealous of one another, so on one child's birthday, all of the rest got a small gift as well. It was only a token, something to unwrap, but it was nice. When we were little, our parents bought these gifts, as we grew, when we were flush, we continued it. So, since today is my birthday, I'm sending out shiny new chapters. I hope you enjoy it.

Read and review, please.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I don't care what you've heard, I still don't own these characters and the world they live in.

_(12345)_

**VISIBLE**

**Chapter 5**

A few days after the infirmary and he's free. Free of the fear that they will find out, that they will see. And it's a strange light feeling.

Everyone's where they're supposed to be, and as he steps into potions from the empty hallway, as he faces carefully blank eyes, the illusion of freedom pops like a bubble.

Now he's even more trapped. Now they know what's behind the cold stare. Blood is in the water.

The day takes forever, before he knows time passed, it's dinner.

A smug hush settles over the students, every eye trained on him and a week ago he would stretch and preen under their attention because that was his role. And a week ago their eyes would be filled with awe, and lust, and fear.

Now he sees the pity, the glee. The fear is still present, but it has traded dance partners, respect for disgust.

Still, he knows his role and plays it. Slytherin prince, ice-cold, perfect. Slytherin house falls into line.

_(12345)_

The next day, the spell has broken. Yesterday, frozen into shock by his appearance, after so dramatically leaving, they let him be. Today, the sharks smell blood.

It's always hands. Reaching, grasping to comfort or for proof. _Was it real? Is he--?_

He dodges the hands too easily, and the questions of, "How did it?" "How long?" "Who?"

He glosses over the leering stares, tearing past his perfect face to see the monster below.

Hufflepuffs strain to hug, to caress. Warm cowlike eyes offer pity dressed as sympathy and he sneers him away.

A quick tug at his sleeve turns him on a girl. So curious, no harm meant, no harm done, and the words on his lips strike her blind for a week and Snape takes points from Ravenclaw for harassment.

Griffindor house is quiet and he's suspicious. They glare at him, some grin, more honest in their feeling, but he doesn't trust the silence.

Cornering Potter, wand tip to delicate jugular flesh, he demands explanations.

"I told them to leave you alone."

"Why?"

"It's my fault. I mean, not the… you know. But I ripped your cloak. I'm the reason they saw."

He assures Potter that it's not his fault. That, in fact, if it were his fault, Draco would be the first to let him know. Followed by Snape, followed by Slytherin house, followed by the Dark Lord himself, and if he doesn't knock off the "Over-Protective Potter" bullshit and quick, he'll find out exactly which curses the Junior Death Eaters learn.

Things go back to routine after that. Sniping and fighting, and "Ferret" and "Weasel" ring off of cold grey stone, and he calls the Mudblood when he sees it.

Life is truly normal two weeks later when Draco blacks the Weasels eye for him. So maybe he's not watching carefully enough, not seeing close enough.

It's dinner time again.

"_Imperio Sanguine Similis_."

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**Note: **Well, here's the next chapter. I have to say, this story is really interesting me right now because I'm only about a chapter ahead of you guys. I have some vague plans, but mostly I just sit down with my notebook, and write whatever comes to mind. I suppose I should be happy it's come out as coherent as it is.

_On a personal note, I got carded yesterday. Not for booze or smokes or anything, but for a movie. And no, it wasn't porn. It was actually a DVD of the Dan Ackroyd/Eddie Murphy movie "Trading Places." I love that movie; it's a classic, so when I saw it cheap, I picked it up. It is R-rated, but just for some bad language and Jamie Lee Curtis's breasts. _

_Now, I realize that I look younger than my age. So, it's not as though it's new, and as it's the week-end and I can dress the way I like, I was much more casual than I am during the week when I have to dress for work. I guess what gets me is that I look like I might be under seventeen. I'm not giving away my age specifically, but I'm older than Frank Iero and younger than Gerard Way, so I'm safely over the age of consent. My co-workers say I should just enjoy it for now, that in ten years I'll really appreciate it, and maybe I will, but for right now, I occasionally have to fight the urge to throw a tantrum to prove I'm an adult._

I like putting my horrendously long Author's Notes at the end so people don't have to carve through them to get to the story, but if you stuck with me this far, Thanks, I needed to vent.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review, it gives me a happy.


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